


I See Fire

by JasmineGreen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: But Tom will show up in most of the chapters, Crossover, Dragon!Voldemort, Just because Harry needs to travel all the way into Hogwarts, M/M, Slow Romance, hobbit crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 10:03:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4133433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JasmineGreen/pseuds/JasmineGreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BEING REWRITTEN because things were a horrible mess.</p><p>A disaster cursed the Wizarding World and, of course, Harry gets stuck to a suicide quest with a bunch of weird wizards. They want to kill a dragon called Voldemort, who murdered Harry's parents and took over a castle named Hogwarts. Amidst lies, deceiving faces and unlikely friendships, Harry just didn’t count on falling in love with the devil himself…</p><p>Harry Potter & The Hobbit merger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I See Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Good reading!

It was quiet and the sun had barely risen upon the sky, the glow of its rays still too low to meet the lines of a young man’s face. Only with concentration a small rise and fall of the boy’s chest could be noticed, as if the boy was a blur in his surroundings, not really in there. And indeed, he wasn’t.

Nothing around him had a touch of the boy’s personality; there were dozens of smiling faces hanging in the wall right in front of him, their looks forever captured in steeled photographs. And yet, not a single face was similar to his own.

The white walls, impeccably painted and untainted of the barest hinges of decaying did not fit with the untamable dark hair. The refined, neat furniture all around the living room rowled at this boy’s tattered clothes, hiding nothing much besides bones.

Yet his eyes surveyed the contrast of his life with nothing but quiet contemplation. He only moved to bring a cup of hot water to his lips, nearly knocking his too large glasses out in the process. Humming to himself, he knew he needed to go now.

Leaving the cup void, he picked an old light-brown coat and with firm, long steps he opened the door. If only he had strained his ears a bit, the faint sounds coming upstairs would no doubt have worried him; he did not want to be seen leaving, much less by his _relatives_. Yet he was all but oblivious to the figure smirking at the window above, watching him move through the bleaching shadows.

 

 

 

The young man was clearly nervous, his hands clenching and sweating hard, forming quite the picture to the woman in front of him. His dark hair reigned free all over his head, which also had stupidly large and dirty glasses as decoration, and clothes old and horribly ironed… well, not ironed at all - what with the smell! It was the worst picture possible for a respectful job interviewer.

He was perfect for the job. At least, for what she had in mind.

“Do you have experience?” The crooked voice of an old, thin and stiff-looking woman echoed through the small balcony both of them stood in the front. Right behind her, countless drinks from old scotch to brandy unintentionally decorated the wall with its many colours and glass forms. All of them, of course, covered in a thick layer of dust - the young man didn’t expect anything less from such shabby place.

“Oh yes, a lot.” The woman leaned in, not believing a single word coming out of the black haired teen, waiting for him to clarify. Nothing came out of the teen’s mouth. She sighed.

“Name?”

“Harry Evans.”

She bestowed her best glare at the young man’s stiff answer, as bad a lie as it could get - his eyes were to still cross hers since he first stood in this establishment. She intended to make him flee away from here; kids didn’t belong in this place. Yet the boy across her didn’t even flinch at her intense glare.

“Very well,” and here she smirked deviantly, “you may start right away.” The look of surprise which passed quickly behind his thick glasses was all she needed to widen her smirk. If the boy deemed himself tough enough to appear in the middle of an adult pub asking for a job as if it would be easy as rain, he was in for a surprise.

Assured the teen was following by the sound of his quick footsteps right behind her, she guided all the very short way to a wooden door behind the pub. The section they were in was badly lighted; but then again, all the pub was dark, with the oil lanterns few and far between the rooms, made out of used bottles from no doubt the pub itself.

“Here it is.” The woman waved her long hands at the door in a far too exaggerated gesture. She looked with glee at the incredulous look the teen shoot her, who gave a quick peak at a door far to her right, which obviously was the kitchen, and back at the wooden door. It was an unisex toilet, for sure. He gazed intently at the signs - a horribly drawn woman covering her more intimate places with only her long hair, and a man which clearly had a too large… package for a human, looking too familiar to Popeye. Why an unisex toilet would have signs for gender was beyond the teen’s comprehension. If he didn’t know better, he would say the drawn woman actually winked at him. He fidgeted with his hands, looking at the pub owner’s face intently, just to make sure it was no joke.

“Go right’n, kid, get this place glowin’. Then you come to ask me a job.” Their eyes locked and she couldn’t suppress a grin, showing all her decaying teeth. There was no way he would have the balls to do it, specially after how she left it. These toilets never were properly cleaned, and could run for ‘Worst Bathroom Ever’ in a fierce competition with portable toilets in the middle of a St. George’s Day feast. With free laxative food.

Flicking one more glance at the toilet’s art and at the owner’s face, the teen stepped in. She didn’t give him five minutes before he would come back screaming for his mummy.

Well, a pub is a very busy place - especially when you have customers all hours of day waiting to get drunk - so, no time to properly clean anything, the dirtiness was even part of the pub’s charm. She walked over to the balcony, spitting all over and spreading it with her apron. “There, perfect.”

The minutes ticked by and two hooded customers came and went with huge pints, their beers half-finished while they talked in a hushed tone, yet the boy still hadn’t  come back from the toilet. As minutes turned to half an hour, she started crouching at the back of the pub, attentive to the smallest noises coming behind that door. She couldn’t hear anything. Just when she was about to step into the toilets - even if she dreaded to do so - sure the teen was making fun of her or worse, dead of heart attack after seeing what she did to the toilet’s state - the door opened at her face, missing her by inches. She couldn’t believe the toilet’s sight.

Completely. Clean.

How in the devil’s name had the child done that? She stood there, stupidly gawking at the scene. There was no way in hell a freshly out-of-puberty teen could have done that in half an hour, without any equipment. No way. As if in the first time in ages, the toilet didn’t stink.

She didn’t know when exaclty, but in her stupefied reaction the teen got besides her, a smirk plastered all over his face. “So, what were you saying ‘bout a job?”

She stared at him.

 

 

 

Finally, finally I got a job! And a real one, as a matter of fact. Gone were the days I delivered journals too early in the morning, collected trash, helped in construction sites carrying heavy boxes. I finally got a real kind of job.

Well, doing kitchen work at a small and secluded pub wasn’t a high paying job by any means, and it’s not as if I couldn’t lose the job as quickly as I gained it - it happened before. Many times. But having something completely secluded and far away from ‘home’ was relaxing; I finally wouldn’t lose my job because of _him_. The day couldn’t get possibly better. And it’s not as if cleaning things were that hard to me, after all, I have powers. But I only use them with certain rules.

First, the place needs to be clean of any prying eyes. I have to be alone, and rightly so - the times I was caught using my powers were unbearable, with all the quick excuses I had to invent in a matter of seconds and even then, there always was someone shouting out loud how I’m the devil incarnated. Thankfully no one had proof, or I would probably have burned at the stake long ago.

Second, I really needed to use it. The perfect example was that terrible toilet; I had barely entered and my nose was already traumatized by the heavy scent coming out of… everywhere.

And this leads to the third rule: not acting suspicious. I cleaned it up really fast, just weaving my hands all over the stink, and paid well for my hurry - I got completely soaked up with sweat, drained to the bones. Well, I can’t really complain; having a bunch of crazy powers was good for a lot of things, but they had their side effects… and cleaning everything after only a few minutes would be suspicious - even more with my face all red and my T-shirt dripping sweat. So, to not warrant any more suspicion from the old lady today, I simply waited a little bit to cool off. After a while, I heard footsteps and knew she was coming. Grinning ear to ear, I opened the door.

 

 

 

Days upon days of a hard but quiet routine and it was already three full weeks since I was successfully hired. No incident happened and I was really glad it didn’t. It seems my relatives weren’t able to locate my work place this time, and I felt all more smitten with having the brilliant idea of stepping into an establishment as radically opposite to my ‘home’ as it was possible, in the outskirts of Little Whinging. I didn’t dare dwell in such thoughts, though - not a bright idea to tempt luck, right? Well, it seems I needn’t have bothered.

“I’m looking for Harry Potter.”

The chill going through my body was enough to assure me I didn’t hear it wrong, but peeking out of the kitchen’s door my fears were all but confirmed. There stood my worst nightmare.

Well, he isn’t my worst nightmare, per see, but my fat cousin could wreak havoc as easy as breathing. Just like he's doing now.

“There is no Harry Potter here, child. Go away.” The crooked voice sounded again near the pub’s front door, from the old lady. She seemed pissed off, no doubt because of all the arrogance he threw everyone in waves.

Of course, my cousin wouldn’t comply.

“Harry Potter, you coward, come here right now!” I rolled my eyes. Trust him to spurt a series of orders out of his shitty mouth. I got back to drying the dishes, set on leaving the kitchen sparkling and doing my best in ignoring the whines that followed in favour of not losing my job - for all the old lady knew I didn't know anyone by this name. Dudley didn’t stop prying around for me though, going as far as entering that damn toilet, and the owner was picking up a broom to shoo the kid out of here when he spotted me out in one of the many door’s holes. Shit.

I carelessly tossed what I had in my hands on the nearest table and opened the window.  Just after I jumped over it the door slammed open.

Alright, perhaps you think I’d chickened out, but you gotta understand me. There’s no way I could let his hands grab me, the bruises would last a few days. As for the scene he was making... it really isn't a surprise. I'm praying for him to at least  not catch me or make any more problems for the old lady.

“I saw you, Harry. Hiding like a chicken, right? It’s so like you.” I concealed myself a little better but he only needed to get near the window to see me. I was dead. The moment he saw me, he would push me around the place and break as many things as his fat hands could get at; all for the owner to wish never seeing a strand of hair from me again. And the worse thing is, I wouldn’t be able to fight right back - he is thrice my size. I hunched my body all that was possible, glued to the wall.

I heard he looking at things, opening cabinets, breaking dishes and even a chair, looking everywhere for me. My hiding wouldn’t last long. His footsteps grew near; soon he would stand by the window. Now he’s right behind me, his breathing coming in excited beats from his pounding heart.

“Get OUT.” I nearly peed my pants off with the strong, gonna-murder-you voice old lady shouted at my back. I could hear Dudley leap to the ceiling, and quickly spun around to face her.

“You don’t understand, I-”

“GET. OUT.” I heard a strike, two, of corn fibers spinning around and hitting their target. With all strength I had, I suppressed a damn giggle; this was getting ridiculous. My cousin should have seen it coming! If only I could get up and peek at the scene...

With hurried footsteps, there went my cousin, his tail between his legs. Hail old lady!

“Come out, son. He’s already gone.” Even with reassuring words I didn’t immediately spun around. Slowly, I peeked through the window, only to meet the tired face of old lady staring right back at me, surrounded by broken things that I couldn't fix without raising suspicion.

I jumped over the window again and meet her eyes.

“Thank you.”

She just went back to the balcony.

 

 

 

The day’s shift was finally over and I was already finishing up hooking the chairs on the few pub’s tables when a somber looking old lady came towards me.

“I guess you’re not comin’ back.”

My breath caught up on me. I couldn’t properly breathe. Was it worry I saw behind her green eyes? I had never seen such emotion staring right into my eyes. I breathed deep.

“You’re right. I can’t.” ‘Let him wreak havoc here everyday for me’ went unsaid.

She glanced at my eyes, seconds ticking by in the old clock nearby with heavy thuds. She let a soft sigh escape her lips. She reached for her charcoal coat’s pocket.

“I hope you find a place...” She carefully grabbed my hands, shoving what she picked up, and folding them with a care I never knew. “...where you belong.” It was money. A lot of it. What passed by the old lady’s head? Never talked with me beyond ordering me around, always keeping to herself, knew me for less than a month and was on the other end of my cousin’s aggressive self. Yet she held me with tenderness - as if she knew me as an old friend.

And then she was gone, the pub’s candles burned, and I slowly walked my way in the path to ‘home’. I couldn’t help it. I knew it was ridiculous, completely uncalled for, she didn’t even mean it, really, and all I told myself over and over again was to hold myself together, but then the understanding I felt completely foreign staring at me from deep into her eyes came back to the forefront of my mind.

I cried.

 

 

 

The wind started to howl in coldness and strenght, the sign a brash winter was approaching, fast. I tucked all I could of my body inside the thin light-brown coat I weared, but to no avail; it stayed cold, my hands trembling, the chilling air of november all over me. What would I do now? I got plenty of money, enough to last some weeks if I skipped breakfast enough times, but without a proper job I would never survive in this town. Jogging past the sign of Privet Drive, I reached for number four, another in countless boxy houses all around the neighborhood. It disgusted me, but not quite by it’s sheer nonchalance and refined air than by the bad memories I harbored for so many years. It was here I grew up and yet I couldn’t wait to find a long-lasting, proper job to gather enough savings for a house - even only a small flat’s rent, whatever I could get my hands in. Yet, I had nowhere to go, nowhere to work, and here I am stepping upon the threshold I hoped beyond hope I would never see again. 

At least I had money to eat properly for a week. No need to steal from my relatives; it always went bad enough.

Careful to make no noise and getting my dirty boots off to not leave a mess, I sighed deeply and gathered all the courage I could to make it to the second floor. But the damn stair just had to creak at the last step and the door to my left opened.

“Hello, cousin.” My cousin’s words rang a loud bell in my head, yet I wasn’t fast enough before he threw me into the stairs.

I rolled and rolled and I would get myself tangled up in weird positions, even breaking something, if I had not used my powers in the last minute. Bad thinking.

“Dad, he’s doing _that_ again!” Dudley’s sing-song voice echoed loud and clear.

The door to the end of the corridor opened up.

“BOY, WHAT DID I SAY--!” Thankfully he didn’t step out of the door to hit me or anything. Oh, me and my large mouth.

The ugliest and most impressive bits of fat walked out of it, like a monster creeping from its nest hunting for blood. Instead of keeping my mouth wide open though, I hurried at my door far to the right, climbing the stairs as fast as I could - ignoring the smirk plastered over my cousin’s face - and I would have reached it just in time if not by some bulky hands grasping my arms, hard enough to make it bleed.

I didn’t have much time, seconds if I didn’t want a broken arm and no possibility of jobs for a good while. For some sort of miracle my powers answered my call. It was the worst thing that could happen.

My uncle was thrown, hard, against the marble floor by an invisible force. And I could only gape openly. Before he and my cousin could recover of the scare, I hurried into my room and shut the door, blocked it with all heavy objects in the room; chairs, a nightstand, even my bed. No sooner I blocked it with all I had, the handle started to turn over and over again, no doubt my uncle, completely red by rage.

It stopped suddenly.

“No job, no freedom; you start your damn chores tomorrow!” And footsteps echoed, two doors being slammed shut with force.

I had to fight a maniac laugh though. This was the first time, in years, that my powers answered my call and they finally got a taste of their own remedy. It would have been wonderful, using my powers over and over to make them never think of laying a single fat finger in me again. But there was a truth I didn’t want to face right now.

I was scared.

It never happened before; all the times I was hurt, beaten, my powers never answered my call, no matter how desperate I was. So why had them, now?

It seemed to me they were restricted to inanimate objects, and I never had a reason to doubt it before. I had been glad I could at least take a timeskip with the countless chores I did when I had no work - and that's what would happen now, i realised; with no work once again, they would lock me in the house and make me clean everything like a slave.

I needed to learn at least the basics on my powers. Urgently.

 

 

 

Unknown for the inhabitants of Privet Drive, who by now laid in bed in deep slumber, a figure stood tall and careful, watching over the muggle houses in barely concealed wonder. The wind remained harsh and fast, making the figure cast a sticking charm in its hat. Behind this figure, a tabby cat waddled in the far end of the street, its form slowly reaching it. 

“Minerva.” The figure spoke as greeting, turning to the now full-sized, thin woman who met his gaze.

“Albus.” She answered, and the corner of Albus’ mouth twitched upwards.

“I fear it’s time we make our move.” And Minerva only nodded stiffly, leaving his gaze in favour of watching the house they stood in front of. 

“He isn’t a boy anymore, Albus. If you’re afraid of getting a child in the midst of this quest, you need not worry. Those muggles taught him a harsh world.” The last words whispered in bitter tone, she turned her gaze back at Albus. There was an awful feeling stuck in her throat, a need to say how wrong he was to leave a baby in this horrible house many years ago, how it would be better to leave him far away from this quest and let him find a place in the scattered wizarding world, how she wanted this young man to have a carefree life she now knew he never had… after all those years looking after his well being, keeping harmful people nowhere near this town, gathering information, locking up bad wizards, and she failed to protect him from his own relatives. She failed him; she didn’t even recognize his face when the young man stepped foot into the cover pub. But she knew better than to speak against Albus.

“Thank you for your work, Minerva. Send McGregor my sincere apology for periodically taking his wife away. We won’t need your services anymore.”

She tempted in contradicting him, pointing out Harry could very well refuse the whole idea of such insane quest, grasping what little knowledge he would have about the Wizarding World and setting foot in Diagon Alley or any other town to never leave again. Yet she knew it wasn’t an option.

 

 

 

 

An adventure? Was this old man hitting on me?

I stared hard and long at the twinkling eyes behind half-moon spectacles. This man actually _winked_ at me, excitement plastered all over his face. “What?”

“As I said, I look for someone to share an adventure, my boy.”

The heck this old man was talking about? In a split second I was tempted to ask him just that, but then I thought better. I have no reason to talk to strangers, specially someone with such flamboyant clothes and long, long, loooong beard. Also, I have no time to waste; after the episode of just yesterday, Uncle Vernon made sure I had a lot of things to clean up today. And pruning plants would already be over with if this old man would just leave, and let me do my business - no breaking rules on my powers, remember? 

Thinking it must certainly be an improper invitation, I narrowed my eyes, standing eye-level with him.

“No one here is willing for an adventure, sir. I’m sure there are plenty of charming young people just out of downtown you could ask instead.”

He furrowed his brows, and his mouth was just about to open up to say something - that I would most probably cut in favour of shooing him out - when a much worse shadow  surged in the beginnings of the street. Shit shit shit shit---

“Have a good day.” I barely managed to gather all my gardening equipment and hurry inside before the carriage could come fully into the street and this specific someone could see me standing around talking to strangers instead of gardening. Oh God, if my day wasn’t horrible already… the huge, enormous, vast, nasty bulk of fat called Aunt Marge was coming. And I had nowhere to flee! Just this morning my room became door-less.

I gave in to temptation and peeked through the door’s glass window, trying to gather myself at least a some breath before _it_ halted in our front door. And indeed, it was no dreaming; the carriage was coming swiftly towards our house, carried by ill-nourished horses. It was unmistakable; the green, ‘vomit food’ shade I could recognize a mile away, not even speaking about the sounds of barking little demons that would soon be here... I was on the verge of throwing up when I noticed the old man was nowhere in sight; he, surely, couldn’t walk that fast, could he?

Weird.

Throwing all gardening equipment in the wisest place possible, so no one would notice it until I properly pruned the plants - below a carpet - I fussed all around the kitchen, pans spreaded all over the sink, making an explendid firework show out of my powers in the quickest dinner I had ever cooked. When the bell rang, I was as ready as I couldn’t remember ever being in my life - the table exposing the biggest diversity of foods and expensive porcelain tableware I’ve ever laid, all over a silky and flawless white dining sheet.

So when the bulky monstrosity of my cousin opened the door, beginning pleasantries and shit-chat with the Devil-sent demon from hell, I was as out of their sight as possible, quite content on the prospect of such quiet and unbothered evening ahead of myself, spent entirely in the confinement of my door-less room; perhaps I could even count on a quick escapade for food, when all I could hear would be the loud snores of such colossal throats.

How wrong I was.


End file.
